Uninvited
by completetherainbow
Summary: 007 is on a mission to find a dangerous supplier of very dangerous weaponry. The only problem? His target has done something to him. After being captured and "fixed" something has changed in the spy. And, suddenly, James is questioning, not only his position at MI-6, but his entire existence. SLASH!


AN: This is a fic, dedicated and beta'd by the lovely Amu4ever! I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update, what with trying to finish my other fics. I'm sincerely trying to finish my other fics, Saving Me and Tick Tock, but I'm finding that since the accident, my concentration is getting really difficult! Someone pestering from other people gets me motivated and writing, but my hubby can only do so much! If you actually want to see any of my fics to the end, you should get on me to finish! PM, if you gotta, but don't give up on me! I'll finish them with a little motivation! I promise!

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"Your target," M laid the folder on the desk before James.

James casually picked up the folder, heavy, with multiple papers lying within. The photo on the front featured a young man. Though blurred, he could make out black, messy hair, bottle green eyes and pale white skin. "Snow White," he questioned, his tone light, but his face serious.

"H. J. Potter," M said, opening his own folder on the man. He leafed through, glancing at some of the words. "Considered armed, extremely dangerous. Not to mention he is selling very dangerous weapons on the black market." He pulled up a paper from the file, "More specifically, of the radioactive and chemical kind." He read the paper, "The things this boy is able to get his hands on could be catastrophic."

Bond skimmed the file, noticing that the man had gone missing for five years from age eleven to age sixteen. His mother and father had died at age one, murder. His godfather, who had had a hand in the death of his parents, had escaped when the man was thirteen. It was believed he had escaped to kill the boy. He had stayed out of trouble, save for some minor mishaps with his family, but up until he had gone missing, appeared to be normal.

But he then disappeared. For five years. Where did he go? There was, literally, nothing that indicated where he went, how he survived, who took care of him or even if he finished more than primary education. And then, five years after his disappearance, he reappears selling black market items to powerful diplomats and such. He is selling things to the highest bidder. And, has since, become a master of obtaining the rarest and sought after, not to mention dangerous, items for anyone who had the money.

"He will be arriving in London within the hour," M said, setting the folder down.

"And," James began, looking up from the papers, "will I be capturing the target or killing?"

M smirked, folding his hands, "Why can't it be both?"

)page break(

James sat casually at the bar that Mister Potter was in. He had walked in, glancing casually around the room, but kept all of his attention on the man. Potter's VIP booth was filled to the brim with attractive people. He was surrounded up to his eyeballs with poon, James mentally commented to himself.

He ordered his usual, martini (shaken, not stirred) and casually lifted it to his lips as he made a point of scanning the room. His full attention was still on the man. The others around him appeared to be having a good time, but Potter himself seemed very uninterested. Like the whole building could come crashing down around him and he would probably barely care. Not that the man was not alert of his surroundings. He kept his eyes on all of the exits and made sure that no one was close enough to him to touch. In fact, he had two men behind him making sure none of the young, loud, and attractive people came too close.

James quirked an eyebrow before turning his back to the man and downed his drink. From his spot at the bar, he was able to keep an eye on Potter through the mirror. He ordered another drink and waited for him to make a move, or something more interesting to happen. He couldn't just walk up and arrest Potter. There was no proof that the man had actually done anything. That was why they had to bring him in. He needed to be questioned. James rolled his eyes. Every time they had a "suspicion" of something, they were usually right, but they had to subject themselves to the chance that they might be wrong. As one day, they would be.

James glanced up when he noticed that Potter had sent everyone away. He then watched as the man stood, threw down some bills, a fist full, on the table and walked out. His body guards didn't follow, they probably worked for the club. James finished his drink and followed him out.

Keeping track of the man was easy. Following him to his hotel was simple enough; he was even able to contact Q to find out which room he was staying in. According to the Quartermaster, he had entered his room and had yet to leave. It was well passed two in the morning when Bond jumped from his own balcony, which was directly next to Potter's and entered the room. 'Hotels,' Bond thought, as he silently shut the balcony door.

He observed that the room was the exact opposite of his own, so that meant the door to the immediately on the left was the master bedroom. The door on the right was simply a closet. He pulled his gun, just in case the man was still awake and waiting. He gently opened the door, slowly moving it so it didn't creak or shudder. He glanced around the dark room, his eyes accustomed, and saw the man casually leaning back against the headboard, smirking at him.

James was suddenly hit with the most arousing scent he had ever faced in his life. It was the smell of Scottish grass, a good martini and cinnamon all rolled into one. It hit him so fast; hit him so hard, he could barely breathe. What on earth? He looked into emerald green eyes; ones that were laughing at him, and realized Potter had set him up.

"Put your gun down, Mister Bond," Potter said, his voice a deep timber that rolled through James.

Despite his better judgment, he followed the order. He felt himself lowering his weapon and could barely register why he would do it. He saw Potter reach over to the lamp and flick it on. The light momentarily blinded him but he was soon able to observe that Potter was naked from the waist up and it was a sight that James knew he would never forget.

His chest was muscled, but lithe. He bore a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm and, while James could really make out what they were, he could see what appeared to be a dragon glaring at him from his shoulder. His other arm had a single tattoo on his forearm and depicted a snake exiting the mouth of a skull. It was completely black, the skull that was, while the snake was a green that matched his eyes to perfection. He also had various scars littering his torso, and while not all of them were easily identified, James could make out at least one that was a burn from what James knew was a skillet.

"What is MI-6's favorite little spy doing in my hotel room, Mister Bond?" Potter asked, walking toward James.

"What is a young man like you doing with dangerous materials, Mister Potter?" James asked, watching the catlike grace. The man was a fighter, if his form was anything to go by.

"We all have our specialties, James," Potter said, getting closer. The scent that James had smelled was coming from Potter. "Yours is killing people. Mine is procuring unique items for a select clientele."

James felt sweat trickle down his back. Something was wrong with him. He couldn't figure out what, but he shouldn't be feeling sweat on his back in the cold, air conditioned, hotel room. Not unless he's making love to someone. His muscles strained and flexed against his will and his breath quickened. What the fuck is going on?

Potter stopped just a hairs width from James. He could feel the heat radiating off him and James couldn't help but wonder if he'd be that hot while James thrust into him. What the fuck had gotten into him?

James clenched his teeth, "What the fuck did you do to me?" He ground out at the other man.

Potter raised a brow, "Done to you? I haven't done anything. It's what your government did. I just caused it to surface, my dear Bond." He smirked and glanced the agent up and down. "And, I must say, they've done quite a number on you." He lifted a hand, slowly, to James' face. "I'll fix you, my dear Mister Bond."

A light flashed before James' face before he saw darkness.

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AN: Please don't forget to review and send your love to me!


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